Denise paced back and forth in her parents' bedroom with the phone to her ear, while Richie and Jeremy sat on the bed, waiting—listening.
"I don't see any way out of this," she said, there was a minute of silence, "No I can't—because I don't trust having the two of them here alone with that imposter and I trust them even less to go out and look for the deputy—I don't see any other way—no Connor, listen to me—we can't do that, it's out of the question—first of all, they're not here, they're in Seattle, second if you think I'm calling him and telling him that Richie saw a man who he's known for five years and thinks is just peachy keen, rip open someone's throat, then you—no, no I can't call him back, it was risky enough getting him in the first place—what?—Allright, what is it?— Okay, I'll look into it, okay—what? Hold on," Denise removed the phone from her ear, "Richie, he wants to talk to you."
Richie went over to Denise and took the phone, his hands shaking intensely, "H-Hello?"
"Richie, are you allright?"
"Y-Yes—"
"Listen Richie—"
Connor had been shocked when Denise called him and told him about Mason. He didn't know the guy himself, but he could've sworn he'd heard Duncan mention him at least once. Now he was listening to Richie, who sounded like he'd covered his mouth so he wouldn't hear the boy's sniffling.
"Richie, calm down—it's going to be allright—look, I know that Denise isn't going to let anything happen to you—now just calm down, okay?"
"Okay."
"Good, put Denise back on—"
Richie handed the phone back to Denise, "Connor—I have to go now——"
Denise hung up the phone and went back over to Richie and placed her hands on his shoulders to hold him still. She looked at him for a minute with what seemed to be an almost "approving" look. She put her hands back at her sides and said to Jeremy, "Keep an eye on Richie, I'm going to make another call."
"No!" Richie screamed, "You can't call the police again, you just can't!"
"Calm down," Denise said, "I'm not calling the police, I'm calling in someone who can actually be of help—"
"What do you mean?" Richie asked.
"Connor gave me the number to a couple of guys right here in Seacouver—they work for sort of a – bodyguard service. I think we could use one of them here and the other can help look for the deputy, and if anyone tries anything funny, we'll know. These guys were trained to be bounty hunters, they know just about every way possible to kill someone, so they'll know exactly what to do with this guy."
"Denise—I can't go out there—"
"Allright, fine, you can stay with one of the hunters."
"Sis, I don't feel like going either," Jeremy said, "this whole thing's got me worried."
"You think I'm enthusiastic about it?" Denise asked, "I'm worried sick about this whole thing, but we gotta do it, otherwise there's no telling what Mason will do next."
Denise picked up the receiver and punched in a few numbers and tapped her fingers as it rang. "Hello? I'd like to speak to 325 and 536 – that's right, Jones and Marrow."
There was a long silence, "What'd they say?" Jeremy asked.
"They haven't gotten them yet," Denise replied.
Richie covered his mouth with his hand so they wouldn't hear him whimpering as he shook. Jeremy noticed however, he slipped one arm around Richie's back and drew him to him, "Take it easy, Rich—just calm down."
Denise lowered the receiver to her chest, "Richie, do you need a sedative?"
Richie didn't say a word and just shook his head.
Denise heard someone in the receiver and brought it back up to her ear, "Hello – am I speaking with Jason Jones or Krug Marrow? – This is Denise Kramar at 5161 East and Lincoln, we've got trouble up here. Well for one thing there's been a murder – yeah- this deputy from the department was supposed to get up here but somewhere between the station and here something must've happened to him because he was replaced with an imposter who's in the house, and we have to go out and find the real deputy before someone else gets killed. –Well where's Jones? When you get him, you get your arses up here, this is an emergency—how long should you be? –Allright, we'll be expecting you."
Denise hung up the phone and turned to the boys, "They'll be here shortly—Jeremy, go downstairs and see what that schmuk's up to."
"I'm on it—"
Jeremy headed out the door and down the stairs quietly before he started bellowing, "HEY DEPUTY BLOCH! I GOT A QUESTION FOR YOU IF YOU DON'T MIND!"
"Now what?" Richie asked Denise.
"Now—we either wait until we hear gunshots or until another car pulls up," Denise said.
"Denise—"
"What?"
"You do believe me, right?"
"Would I be going through all this trouble if I didn't think you were telling the truth?" Denise asked.
"I don't know –"
"Look, I know you well enough to know you are usually a horrible liar – I also happen to know you wouldn't lie to me about a murder, especially when the murderer's Mason."
"How do you know?" Richie asked.
"Why are you questioning it? I believe you, I'm going to help you nail this guy's ass and I don't want to discuss this anymore," Denise said.
Denise went over to the balcony and looked down to see if anything else had happened.
"Denise," Richie said, "You lied to us, you're not scared at all, are you?"
Denise turned back around and said, "No, I've been through far too much to be scared now."
Richie nodded in understanding, he went over to the head of the stairs and listened for Jeremy and/or the unknown, but he couldn't hear either – and his heart skipped a beat.
"Denise, something's wrong, I can't hear either of them," Richie said.
Denise walked over next to Richie and told him, "Stay here—if that guy comes up, you know what to do."
Denise clutched her gun and headed down the stairs, leaving Richie upstairs, and alone. Richie headed back to the master bedroom and over to the balcony and looked around. He saw nothing unusual, but he heard something that surprised him. It was the unmistakable music of a piano, and it came from up the street, at Mason's house.
Oh shit, Richie thought.
Something was wrong, he'd heard Denise say that the house was practically sound-proof, but then again he'd also heard her say that he worked on musical pieces on the piano almost every night—but at the same time, nothing made any sense. Richie just lowered himself onto the floor of the balcony and let his legs dangle between the bars as he waited for the next thing to happen.
Half an hour passed, Richie looked at his watch, going on four in the morning. It would be light soon, and it would just be another day, and everybody would continue with their lives, nobody even suspecting a thing about Drew Mason. Richie was tired, his eyelids felt heavy and as much as his eyes hurt to keep open, they hurt even more when they were closed so he saw he had no choice but to stay awake. Then a frightening thought entered his head, Denise never came back! Neither did Jeremy after he went down to speak to the officer.
Richie straightened himself up on the balcony, gripped the .38 Super Denise had given him and was ready to go down when he saw a white Sedan pull up by the curb. Suddenly, something in him snapped and his mind froze, the only thing that his brain acknowledged, was if Denise and Jeremy were still alive, to get their attention. He held the .38 in the air and fired two shots. He didn't know what else to do, so he stumbled into the bedroom, and waited. Almost instantly, he heard two heavy sets of footsteps rushing up the stairs, at a speed he knew could only belong to his friends. Denise and Jeremy jumped into the room, looking ready to kill.
"What's going on?" Jeremy asked.
"Those killers you hired, I think they're here," Richie groaned as he pointed to the balcony with his gun still in hand.
Denise and Jeremy rushed over to the balcony and looked down, "That's them allright," Denise said, "they look just like Connor described—I'll take care of them, Jeremy, stay here with Richie."
Denise slipped out into the hall and disappeared down the stairs, Richie fell back on the bed and said to Jeremy, "What in the hell were you doing down there?"
"Nothing, we were just talking," Jeremy replied.
"Yeah? How come I didn't hear you?" Richie asked accusingly.
"We were out in the side yard, Richie," Jeremy defended.
"I would've heard you from the balcony," Richie said.
"Were you near the balcony at the time?"
"No—" Richie admitted. "What about Denise? She went down after you, what were you doing for half an hour, while I waited outside on the balcony and watched for something to happen?"
"We had to keep that imposter downstairs busy, make him believe that we really thought he was the deputy. So we've been down there asking him a lot of questions, and bullshitting him the entire time of how great a guy we think he is. He wanted to come up here, but we told him you were sleeping," Jeremy said.
"Oh shit," Richie spat, "Jeremy, what'd he do when I fired that gun?"
"I told him a lot of the punks around here go drag racing at night, and one of them probably had a backfire occur."
"Oh—good."
Richie started laughing nervously, it went from nervousness to hysterics, and pretty soon, he lowered his head on the bed and started moaning. Jeremy crawled on top of him on the bed and lowered his head right beside Richie's. "Hey pal, don't start that again, everything's going to be fine."
Richie sighed and looked over at Jeremy, "You really believe that, don't you?"
"Well sure—hey, you think I'd let someone wring my friend's neck? Hell no, I'm gonna kill them before they do that," Jeremy said.
They heard people coming up the stairs and they started to get up and off of one another, but not quickly enough. Denise stepped into the room with a man at each side. "And this is my brother Jeremy and our friend, Richie—who quite frankly— I'm beginning to become concerned for both of them."
Jeremy rolled off of Richie and got up, laughing nervously. "Sis, this isn't what it looks like."
"I should hope not."
She reached over and turned on the lights, the boys got a better look at the hunters Connor recommended. One stood near 6'8 with short cropped blonde hair, a light tan, large muscles bulging through the sleeves of his green trench coat and a white shirt and blue jeans. The other was roughly around the same height, short butchered red hair, paler skin, smaller but well developed muscles, and he was dressed in a black trench coat, camouflage shirt and blue jeans.
Richie attempted to swallow the lump in his throat as he stood up and walked over to Jeremy.
"So what's the deal?" the guy with the blonde hair asked.
"You're here because we need some help and Mister Nash highly recommended you for your services," Denise explained, "Richie, meet Jason Jones—" The first man with the tan skin and blonde hair stepped forward and extended his hand to Richie, who took it in a quick shake, "And Krug Marrow." The second man did the same and Richie returned the favor to him as well before pulling away and taking a step back.
"Allright boys, the sun's going to be up in a couple of hours and there won't be much that can be done then, so we have to decide now who goes and who stays," Denise said.
"I'm going," Jeremy offered.
"I'm going, too," Jason added.
"Richie – Richie!"
"I'm staying."
"Fine, Jeremy, Jason and I are going to go out and find the deputy, Krug, you stay here with Richie, and keep an eye on that guy downstairs," Denise said.
"You got it, Miss," Krug said in return.
The other three were already out the door and halfway down the stairs when Denise returned and said, "Krug."
"Yes Ma'am?"
"Take care of Richie while we're gone," she advised him, "he hasn't been the same since this happened.
"No problem, Miss."
Denise smiled in approval and disappeared, like that. It was just he and Richie now. Richie realized he never put his gun away so he grabbed it and put it back in his pocket. Krug approached him and Richie didn't know what to do or even say to this man, so he turned away from him.
"Richie—"
Richie didn't answer, he didn't even look at the man, he just wanted to forget this. He wanted to wake up and have this all just be one grotesque, horrifying nightmare. But common sense told him all too well that that was not possible.
"Richie," the man repeated.
Richie didn't care, he could call out his name all night but he wouldn't answer him. He couldn't answer him, he had no idea what to even expect from this man, he'd been trained to kill people, probably anybody for any situation, and what should make him such an exception?
"Richie—"
The man reached out to grab Richie by the shoulder and Richie saw tattooed on the man's wrist 325, the number Denise had requested when she called. Richie shrugged the man's hand away from him and fell down on the bed again. Krug was standing over him now, Richie was so exhausted by now, he didn't even move when Krug grabbed him by his boot. When Krug saw he wasn't going to move, he let go of his foot and started poking Richie.
"Are you okay, kid?" he asked.
"I'm beat," was Richie's only response.
"Then why don't you go to sleep?" Krug asked.
"After what's happened tonight, I can't go to sleep," Richie responded.
Richie felt the weight on the bed shift as Krug sat down at the end of it. "So you're the star witness to this whole thing, is that it?"
"Guilty as charged."
"Well why don't you tell me what it was you saw so I have a clue as to what's going on around here?" Krug asked.
Richie sighed, "I might as well, I'll probably be dead by tomorrow anyway." Richie sat up on the bed and turned around to face Krug. "At 2:30 I was outside and saw this guy Mason, who lives in that brick house up the street, kill someone."
"Mason? He lives on the property where those people got killed?"
"How do you know about that?" Richie asked.
"Kid, everybody here knows about that," Krug replied, "'never could figure out why anyone would want to live there. So what were you doing outside at 2:30 in the morning?"
"There's this dog who lives on that block up there, and he gets out at night and he came over here so I took him back to his home and on my way back, I saw him cut a lady's throat," Richie continued.
"Was this on the front porch to that place?" Krug asked.
"No, the living room."
"Right—he iced a woman in his living room and let you watch?"
"No, his blinds were closed but—"
"But they're the tacky kind that people can see through even after their closed," Krug added.
"Exactly, so I run by that block, put out the streetlight so he wouldn't see me if he looked out the window—run across the street, back here, and wake everybody in the house up."
"Then what?" Krug asked.
"Well then they called their uncle, who works down at the police station, we told him what happened and he said he'd send a deputy up here to keep an eye on us so nothing would happen."
"But then someone got to him and came here posing as him, and who would suspect someone who's supposed to be an undercover cop, especially when he doesn't even look like one," Krug said.
"Yeah, that's about it," Richie replied.
"So do you live here?" Krug asked.
"No, I'm visiting."
"Have you told your parents what you saw?"
"I don't—have any parents," Richie admitted.
"Oh—" Krug said in return, "you're kind of young to be on your own, aren't you?"
Richie took offence at his remark, "First of all, I'm not on my own, I'm living with these people who run an antique shop."
"So where are they?" Krug asked.
"Out of town, that's why I'm here."
"Oh-how old are you, Richie?"
"About eighteen, why?"
"Because you remind me a lot of myself when I was eighteen," Krug answered.
"Oh."
Richie looked the other way and hoped he wouldn't say anything more.
"Richie—"
"What?" Richie looked back at him.
"Where are your parents?"
"I don't know—I was an orphan, I lived with this lady until I was four, but then—she died. Wasn't too long ago I found out she was just the first of many foster parents, her husband left her but they were still married when she died."
"Were you with her?"
"Yeah, we were—in a store and she said "I feel funny" and she fell down—and—she never—got back up."
"Sorry to hear that—four years old it must've been pretty shocking—"
"I thought she was just playing, and I—didn't find out she wasn't until—they took her away—" Richie realized he was getting emotional and decided to get off the subject, "I guess by now you're tired of hearing about my past."
"Not really, it's good to remember the past, even if it's someone else's. –I don't have any parents either—they were killed when I was twelve. That's when I decided to start killing."
"Did you find out who killed them?" Richie asked.
"Oh yes, it was three years before I found them, the whole time everyone thought I killed them, nobody believed me when I told them otherwise—I reckon that's around the same situation you've gotten yourself in, seeing this guy kill a lady."
"Pretty much, that's why we had to have their uncle from the police come up here, I mean if Powell ever heard—forget it."
"So what is it I'm protecting you from, exactly? Mason or this imposter downstairs?" Krug asked.
"Honestly, I think it's from myself," Richie replied.
"Does anyone actually believe what you saw?" Krug asked.
"Denise says she does, Jeremy I guess he does, and their uncle—that could be either way, I'm sure he's gotten a lot of false reports in his day—but nobody else knows."
"Except for Jason and myself."
Richie sighed, "Shit lot of good that does me. This guy could have all of us done away with, as popular as he is with people he probably has every precinct and coroner paid off. They could wipe us out in the blink of an eye, nobody would ever suspect a thing."
Krug got up and headed over to the door, and turned back to Richie, "Hey, you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Richie asked.
"The guy downstairs."
Richie raised his head and listened, "I don't hear anything."
"Exactly, something's wrong," Krug said.
"What?" Richie asked as he got up.
"I don't know, stay here and I'll be right back."
Krug clutched something under his coat and slipped down the stairs. Richie went over to the balcony and looked down, and the muscle car was still outside, so the stranger still had to be in the house, or at least on the property. Or did he? He could've slipped out without anyone knowing. And Richie knew exactly where he could've gone to if he had the opportunity. Richie picked up his gun and decided to check it out for himself.
Krug had searched the entire lower part of the house and come up with nothing. The deputy imposter was nowhere to be found, nor anyone for that matter. Jason was still out with the Kramars looking for the real deputy and they probably wouldn't be back for a while. Then Krug remembered Denise had given him the number to her cell phone when they first came. He took the scrap of paper out of his pocket and took the phone off the hook and was about to dial when he realized something was wrong. There was no dial tone. The phone was dead.
"Shit," Krug said to himself, "This is not going to end well."
Krug backed out into the hall and stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking around to see if anything had changed, when he felt someone bump into him from behind. He turned around, ready to kill when he saw it was the kid he was protecting.
"Shit, Richie, what are you doing?" Krug asked.
"I thought I'd come down and see what happened, what's going on?" Richie asked.
Krug knew by Richie's tone that he was just as freaked out by their run-in, if not more, than he was.
"Nothing, nobody's here, that's the problem," Krug told him.
Richie started breathing heavily; Krug thought he was going to start hyperventilating in just about a minute. "Oh man, Krug, this is serious, what if he went out after them? What if he killed them?"
Krug grabbed Richie by his shirt and shook him, "Now listen to me kid! You've just got to pull yourself together—before morning this town could have a hell of a carnage on their hands. The police can't get involved in this, that guy is still running around loose, the phone wires have been cut and we can't get help!"
"Where's that policeman?" Richie asked.
"I don't know – something must've happened to him, he must've slipped out when no one was paying attention," Krug said.
"Yeah, and if he did, I know exactly where he is," Richie said.
"Mason's house?"
"Where else would he go?"
"Allright, that does it, come on," Krug headed to the front door.
"Where're we going?" Richie asked.
"We're going to find my partner and find out just what the fuck is going on around here," Krug said.